Thrillers, Halloweens, and Snigerfanes
by owanaminapotter
Summary: "Really guys, you all suck. It's Halloween, for Merlin's fluffy pink bathrobe's sake! Get into the spirit!"   Merlin's fluffy pink bathrobe? Lord in heaven, it's much too early for this.


**A/N: Hello again! It's hard to believe but no I haven't walked off the face of the Earth. I'm still alive and kicking (and hopefully writing more than lately!). What better way to come back than with a James/Lily- Marauder crack goodness? Read on and enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Harry Pot—WAIT! *checks* Drat. Still don't own it.**

**Oh by the way, I know Michael Jackson wasn't exactly popular in their time, but bear with me. It's the only thing that would go with this story :S**

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"It's close to miiiiiiidnight. A-something evil's lurkin' in the daarrrrk."

Oh God no, please no. Not now. Not when I'm finally getting a few hours of sleep after two weeks of non-stop work and projects and essays for NEWTS preparation.

"Padfoot, shut it."

"Under the mooooooonlight, you see a sight that almost stops your heaarrrrt."

I've been a good boy! Damn, I actually did my homework for crying out loud! What could I have done to deserve this?

"Honestly Sirius, shut up."

"You start to freeeeze, as horror looks you right between the eyyyeess. You're paralyzed!"

"Sirius, I'm warning you..."

Wait for it...

"Cause it's a THRILLER! THRILLER NIGH-ARGH!"

There we go. Three large pillows and a bedside clock are all at once thrown hard to the head of Sirius "Padfoot" Black. I'm pretty sure I even tossed a shoe over at him as well. Anything to get that bloody, sodding, wanking, every-other-derogaroty-adjective-Merlin-can-think-of-because-i'm-just-too-damn-tired Gryffindor idiot to shut UP. The Gryffindor idiot just happens to be my best mate. Or so he used to be, I'm not very fond of him at the moment.

"What was that for?" the great git exclaims as he rubs the spot where my shoe hit him on the head. Hehehe. That's why, ladies and gentlemen, I'm considered the best Chaser the Gryffindor Quidditch team has had for ages.

"What do you think?" grumbles a familiar voice to my right. My dear friend Remus "Moony" Lupin who has also been subjected to the torture of Sirius' voice rubs his heavy-lidded eyes with one hand while the other supports him in the place where his pillow used to be. Sirius really should know better than to start singing very badly and very loudly in a room which has a moody-as-a-girl-on-her-period werewolf in it. He's liable to lose an arm doing that.

"Really Sirius, it's five in the bloody morning, on a Saturday, no less!" Peter "Wormtail" Pettigrew whines from my other side, trying fruitlessly to regain sleep now that he too lacked a pillow like the rest of us. Poor Peter can't function without having at least nine or ten hours of sleep beforehand. It kind of makes him a lousy Marauder, but we still love the little bugger. Manly love, of course.

Sirius scowls.

"Really guys, you all suck. It's Halloween, for Merlin's fluffy pink bathrobe's sake! Get into the spirit!"

Merlin's fluffy pink bathrobe? Lord in heaven, it's much too early for this.

"Padfoot, mate, do us all a favour and go choke on a dog biscuit." I bite out irritably. Believe it or not, but we blokes needs just as much sleep as girls do during school days. Especially us Marauders. I mean, how else are we supposed to be energetic enough to wreak havoc in every class and torture the wee Slytherins? It's a wonder how Sirius can only get three hours of sleep and still act like he's high on five cups of coffee later on.

"Ah, go become roadkill, Prongs." Sirius snaps back (Ahh, don't you just love our Animagus puns?) "You're just jealous of my revolutionary singing skills."

Remus, who seems to have given up trying to get back to sleep and is now stretching as he gets off his bed, snorts derisively.

"Revolutionary? If an unnaturally high voice which sounds like a bag of Kneazles being swung against the wall is the new John Lennon then yes, you have stupendous singing skills," he mutters as he shuffles to his wardrobe to look for clothes.

My mind's so groggy and messed up I can barely remember who John Lennon is. That's how bloody early it is.

"And anyways, you forgot a lyric to that song, you wanker. Know your Michael Jackson songs!" Peter says as he flips over on his back. That boy has an insane fascination with that singer. It's a little scary at times. He can recite every one of the songs word for word without an error, has all the merchandise and posters you can think of, AND he basically knows all of Michael Jackson's biography. Andthey all think _I'm_ obsessed with Lily Evans...

Which, truth be told, I kind of am. But that's beside the point.

"Oh whatever, Peter! Either way, you're all the prats who won't respect the spirit I show for this honourable day!" Sirius huffed, crossing his arms.

I sigh. There's no way I'm going to be able to get back to sleep with Sirius awake. I would be fighting a losing battle. Groaning, I slowly drag myself off my gloriously soft bed and thrust my chest forward, stretching my back until I heard the telltale crack.

"Honestly Sirius, there's nothing honourable about Halloween. It's a great day for pranking I'll admit, but not worth getting up at five AM for," I grumble as I rub the gunk out of my eyes and feel around for my glasses on the night table. It takes much longer than usual but soon I have them on my face and I make my way towards the bathroom, ignoring Sirius' endless retorts behind me.

I stumble my way to the shower stalls in the bathroom and clamber inside one, not really fully conscious of what I am doing. Almost automatically, my hands turn the knob on the wall and the glorious warm water sprays on me and wakes me up much more thoroughly than Sirius' horrible singing ever could.

And that's when I realize I'm still wearing my pyjamas.

"FUCK!"

Yelping, I jump away from the jet of warm water and smash into the shower door. Cursing like nobody's business, I fumble with the handle, and sooner or later finally get the blasted thing open, the shower still going strong behind me. And then, of course, I slip and fall on a puddle of water which had miraculously formed at my feet, smacking my head hard on the stone floor and letting loose a loud string of profanities that would make _Peeves_ blush and stammer. Merlin, I hated mornings.

There's a sudden banging on the bathroom door and the ever obnoxious voice of Sirius Black calls out, "What the hell are you doing in there, mate? Trying to kill yourself because Evans sat next to Benjy Fenwick in Potions class yesterday?"

I literally let out a growl as I try in vain to ignore the sharp pounding of my bruised cranium. And ego. Merlin knows that thing's been shrunk to the size of a pea by now.

"Piss off, Sirius!" I bellow back over the sound of the still running water and Sirius bark-like laughter. Sometimes I wonder why he's my best mate. Muttering darkly under my breath, I gingerly get to my feet to avoid any more catastrophes, and turn off the water, abandoning my usual morning shower. I've decided that I've gotten my fair share of water today, as it is.

Something inside me tells me that this is some sort of warning, a sign that today is going to be an utterly crappy one with no silver lining altogether. Maybe I should listen, I've always been quite good at Divination, but honestly, at the moment, my head's aching too badly for me to care much.

Thankfully, the rest of the morning passes by with little to no misfortunes to speak of. Nothing life threatening anyways. We dress, we moan and curse, and we still sneer at Sirius for waking us up at such an ungodly hour. Peter nearly breaks his arm tripping down the stairs but that's pretty much a regular occurrence.

It almost seems to take forever to get to the Great Hall for breakfast. It's as though someone has gotten a hold of one of those absurd black boxes Muggles use to turn on the television (a "bermote" I think it's called?) and pressed the "Slow-mo" button. Sirius is merrily prancing in front of us while Peter, Remus and I drag our still half-asleep bodies down the halls. More than once, Peter doesn't realize he's about to walk straight into a suit of armour until it's too late. Meanwhile, Sirius tells us very politely to speed up.

"Come on, move your arses you bloody idiots!"

Damn him.

At long last, we finally make it to the Great Hall and collapse in our usual seats at the Gryffindor table. I barely even notice what I'm dumping on my plate, it's like my standard breakfast of bacon and eggs has infused itself into my brain.

"So, what do you think we should do on this fine, fine, All Hallow's Eve day?" Sirius asks brightly, receiving many a glare from the rest of us. We still aren't quite willing to cooperate with him at the moment.

"No idea. But I'll bet every coin in my Gringott's vault that you're just saying that because you have an 'oh so brilliant idea'." I say as I quite cruelly stab a bacon strip with my fork. I almost feel guilty. What did the poor cooked strip of meat ever do to me?

Sirius beams triumphantly. A little too triumphantly for my tastes, and I feel a pang of foreboding.

"As a matter of fact Prongs, my good man, I do! See, I was in the Library the other day- oh, shut up, Wormtail it may be the place of the devil, but I'm not allergic to it! Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah, I was in the Library and I was innocently flipping through a text book for Muggle Studies."

I snort. I highly doubt there was any time in Sirius' life when he was innocent "And I came across a very interesting tradition of theirs which happens on this very day!" He looks at us all like he just granted us a real treat. Personally, I'm more interested in why the hell my pumpkin juice looks like it has bits of chicken floating in it. Ruddy house-elves.

"And what, pray tell, is this tradition?" asks Remus tiredly. Not a second later though, his eyes widen in what seems to be absolute horror, mixed with recognition and he leans away from Sirius. "Oh no...no, no Padfoot, PLEASE don't tell me you're thinking about what I think you're thinking about..."

I exchange a look of confusion with Peter. Sirius is smirking like he's just been told he's won the thousand galleon prize draw and Remus looks like he might throw up what little breakfast he had. This scenario usually results in all four of us spending our evenings in detention so I'm a little nervous.

"What's going on, Moony?" I ask Remus, almost dreading the answer.

But Moony seems to be at a loss for words as he has buried his face in his hands, so Sirius answers me happily.

"It's called Trick-or-Treating!" he exclaims, throwing his arms up to emphasize the point. Remus makes some sort of weird strangled noise between a scream and a moan, muffled a bit by his hands. Has Padfoot finally taken one too many bludgers to the head?

"What in the name of all that is good and holy is "Trick-or-Treating?" I ask, trying to ignore Remus now banging his head repeatedly on his arms on the table.

Sirius lowers his arms and says, "My friend, trick-or-treating is possibly one of the greatest inventions known to Muggle-kind. Forget all that "eckelctricity" rubbish, this is pure gold. You see, once a year, on this very date, Muggle children of all ages get to go around from door to door, banging on the doorbell and ask for candy. And get this, they actually get it! The people in the houses give the kids candy while they say 'trick-or-treat!' and you keep going till you're loaded." Sirius looks like he might piss himself in excitement before he says, "And the best part is, you can dress up as the most craziest shit, and no one will look at you twice! 'Cause it's normal!" Now, he's rubbing his hands together as though preparing for the grand finale. "So, I was thinking we Marauders should dress up and carry out this totally awesome tradition in the fine village of Hogsmead!" He beams at us all, waiting for our reactions.

There's total silence and we all try to absorb Sirius' words. Remus has stopped banging his head against his arms but I can hear him groaning into them. Peter looks at a loss for words. I on the other hand am quite...

Oh, who the hell am I kidding, to me it sounds like the best holiday I've ever heard of! You can pull all sorts of pranks with your crazy-arse costumes and best of all, FREE CANDY! Where do Muggles come up with this stuff?

"Sirius, savour these few words that are coming up because I don't say them often, but you are a bloody genius!" I say as Sirius gives me a triumphant look and slaps my shoulder.

"This is why you're my best friend, mate." he says and then turns to Peter. "Wormy? Any thoughts?"

Peter looks as though he has been given a little piece of heaven nicely wrapped with a big bow on it for his birthday.

"Well, it totally defies the whole 'Don't take candy from strangers' thing our parents teach us, but to hell with it! FREE CANDY!" He's practically salivating already.

We all have our little candy-to-be induced freak-out and start listing off what costumes we might wear before we realize that a certain Marauder is acting very quiet. Remus has finally lifted his head from his arms and is glowering at us moodily.

"What's up with you?" Sirius asks, poking Remus from across the table. The latter looks murderous.

"Oh, c'mon Moony! It won't be that bad! Hell, it might actually be fun for stuffy little swots like you!" Bad thing to say, Sirius.

Remus actually raises his butter knife threateningly which thoroughly freaks me out (Remus Lupin with any form of a weapon is a scary thing) before sighing heavily and letting it drop back onto the table in defeat.

"Nothing," he says, "even though I think this is an utterly stupid idea for four seventeen-year-olds to go trick or treating in a village like Hogsmead, it looks like I have no say in the matter, anyways."

Sirius smiles.

"You've always been the smart one, Moony."

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TBC ;)


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